Je suis le Comte de Sonde!’”
Ruth bowed low, first to Mollie and then to Grace. She shrugged her dainty shoulders in a perfect imitation of the count.
“But what about Monsieur Duval?” queried Mollie.
“He’s the backbone of the little count,” said Barbara. “He’s the brains and strength of the company. If there is any little game to be played at Palm Beach—look out for Mr. Duval!”
“But do you suppose they really have a game to play?” persisted Ruth.
Bab shook her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I am only joking,” she answered. “But did you notice how often Mr. Duval came to the count’s rescue? He helped him out of a number of tight places. Of course it is ridiculous to suppose those men have any scheme afoot. They are certainly not thieves, like Harry Townsend at Newport. I wonder what they are after?”
“Oh, nothing, Bab. You are too mysterious,” protested Mollie. “I thought we were talking about Maud Warren and how we could best make friends with her.”
“Girls, let’s enter into a solemn compact,” Ruth suggested, lowering her voice to a whisper in order to persuade the other girls to listen.
“What kind of compact, child?” Bab demanded.
“A compact to do our best for Maud Warren,” said conscientious Ruth. “I tell you, girls, it won’t be easy, for Maud isn’t our kind. And you know how we like to keep together and don’t care much for any outside girl. I know we shall have to make a good many sacrifices. But Maud must not run around with the Smythes and that little French count all the time. Let’s make a compact to do our best for Maud. Come, join hands.”